


August Dawn

by windsofdawn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsofdawn/pseuds/windsofdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Beth realizes it, she's standing frozen in the middle of the woods. The silence is deafening, unbearable, ears practically ringing. She realizes just how utterly and truly alone she is. Daryl/Beth Season 5 AU. Beth escapes Grady and is more determined than ever to find her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my very first time writing fanfiction so please don’t be too harsh. This has not been edited, but I wanted to go ahead and get this out. I don’t completely know why I’m writing this, but it’s been nagging at me for a bit. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

 

 

Quiet.

She’s always enjoyed the quiet, lounging in the barn with her horse Nelly, face buried in a book, the warmth of the afternoon sun washing over her body. This, however, is a whole different kind of quiet.

No birds chirping, no squirrel’s soft rustling.

Before Beth realizes it, she’s standing frozen in the middle of the woods. The silence is deafening, unbearable, ears practically ringing. She realizes just how utterly and truly alone she is.

_I’m not gonna leave you._

But she did. Not on purpose, no. Of course not. But it still feels like a knife piercing straight into her pounding heart when she dares to let those thoughts surface.

Something feels wrong, out of place.

_Trust your instincts._

The voice is not her own, but Daryl’s, becoming more urgent with each passing second she continues to stand stock still.

_You need to go, Beth, RUN_.

The sound of leaves crunching sounds louder in her head than she knows it really is- reverberating in her mind like gunshots- coming from which direction she doesn’t know, only to realize it’s coming from beneath her own feet. Her legs carry her swift and steady, despite how utterly exhausted she feels.

Her ears strain past the sound of the crunching leaves only to pick up on groans from a distance- the smell of death emerging from all directions. A brief but intense wave of panic crashes over Beth momentarily as she frantically looks in all directions for anything- _anything at all_ \- but all she sees is rows and rows of thin pine trees. She didn’t escape Grady to lay down and die, here in the woods, mauled apart by a herd of walkers, away from her family. Away from Daryl.

_I don’t want to be gutted_.

_I won’t._

With a new wave of adrenaline, her legs carry her faster than she knew she could run- the groans of the dead getting closer and closer as she tries to outrun them before they realize the meat that’s practically dangling right in front of them. She reaches down to feel for her knife tucked away in its sheath. Her trained ears tell her there are far too many walkers to fight off, but the weight of her knife tucked near her hip brings a sense of familiarity, of comfort.

Gritty dirt in her mouth, large tree roots pushing into her legs and abdomen. Scrambling to her knees she follows the roots to the trunk of the tree, practically throwing herself in to the hollow at the base of the trunk, just large enough for her lithe frame to squeeze into. Her body feels like a rag doll, arms and legs stuffed against the tree in awkward, uncomfortable angles, but she doesn’t dare move a muscle.

At first only a few shuffling feet pass by the tree, then more and more until the crunching of dirt and leaves is louder than her ragged breathing that she desperately tries to steady.

Beth is still aware of her need to stay still and silent, but the adrenaline fades, bringing back her exhaustion as fewer walkers pass by, until they’ve all gone past her hiding spot. Her eyelids begin to feel heavy as she fights against how determined they seem to droop.

She knows she should rise from her cramped hiding space soon and find a place to sleep for the night, but her body doesn’t cooperate. Days of being alone and few hours of restless sleep have finally caught up to her aching muscles. Burrowing back further into the tree, she acknowledges the silent tears streaming down her face, continuing their tracks onto her palm, then finally marking the dirt below her head.

_I don’t cry anymore._

She knows that’s not true. But it’s okay. She lets the tears continue on their way down her face, let’s them cleanse her.

Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is a new start.

With those thoughts in mind, she finally succumbs to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I just wanted to show a bit of what's going on in Beth's head. We'll get to some action soon. Once again, thank you for reading and reviewing!

 

The wind sends tendrils of hair across her face, tickling her cheek. The sun is warm and bright and she feels lost in a strange sense of euphoria. She feels weightless, free. She feels safe. No troubles, just her and the warmth of the sun and the swaying grass around her body. Eyes closed, worshiping the sun.

She feels movement to her right, and finally wills her eyes open. The sight takes her breath away, a slight fluttering in the walls of her stomach, a feeling she hasn't felt for so long it now seems. A smile blooms on her face, seeing none other than Daryl Dixon lying in the grass with her, eyes boring into her own- blue on blue. Her smile starts to drop when she notices the look he wears- a small, sad, broken smile- his lips are barely moving, but no sound reaches her ears. Until it does.

_Beth_.

She tries to open her mouth to ask him what's wrong. She can't utter a word. Her voice sounds so distant, so weak. His hand is reaching for hers, sliding across the blades of grass, fingers reaching until she can almost feel the ghost of his fingers against her own, but before it finds its destination, he's gone.

Just gone. Torn away from her. _Again_.

She doesn't know how many times she can relive this. It happens again and again in her dreams. Over and over. No matter how beautiful the dream begins, it always ends the same. The warmth of his body is now gone. No remnants of his heat lingering for even a few moments more. She's surrounded by darkness, screams drilling their way into her ears, groans approaching her from each and every direction. Gorman's words are echoing in her head, practically a chant that burrows its way into her skull, taunting her endlessly. She just wants to cover her ears, to get away from here, but she has no idea where _here_ even is.

x

She awakes with the sunrise, the sky bleeding orange and yellows, giving the world a golden hue. It's actually quite beautiful she thinks with a slight huff at herself- but it's true. The earth is filled with the dead, wandering through the forests and cities looking for their next meal. People torn apart. Looking for a reason to live. But the universe doesn't seem to mind. Still the sun rises and it sets. The earth continues to turn and storms continue to brew.

Beth rises from the hollow of the tree, stretching her aching muscles. Spending hours crammed in to such a small space has created a deep ache throughout her entire body, but she doesn't dwell on it. She's used to it by now.

She doesn't know how long it's been since she escaped Grady. The days all blur together. Three weeks, maybe four? There's no way to know for sure. All she knows is that each day she tries to keep that spark alive- the hope of finding her family again. The past few days that hope has dwindled, but she continues on. They're all out there somewhere. Daryl, Maggie, Rick, ( _Judith_ , she murmurs on days where she's feeling especially brave). Maybe it'll take only a few weeks more to find them. Maybe months, years. Maybe never. But they're out there somewhere, she knows this much.

x

By midday she stumbles out of the woods only to end up staring up at a farmhouse. She doesn't want her mind to wander in the past, but it really can't be helped. It really can't.

It looks just like her farmhouse.

There are slight differences, she notes with a distracted hum. The porch is larger and the window shutters are painted sky blue. Focusing on these, she is able to force her body to the front door. There are no fresh footprints around the house, no tire tracks, just overgrown grass and weeds swaying in the humid breeze. Still, she peeks into the side windows, and sees no one. Her knife is gripped tightly in her hand, ready for anything. Three loud bangs on the door later, and still nothing. She's done this plenty of times since Grady. It's practically a habit now, but she still allows herself a few seconds to inhale deep breaths, then in she goes.

The inside is dusty she notes with a barely there sigh of relief. A thin coating of dust covers the dark wood floors. No footprints can be seen from her position in the foyer. Still, she keeps her tread silent as she continues through the living room and into the kitchen. She needs to stock up on more food. The lessons from Daryl have paid off, but she's used to his bow. The only real weapon she has now is her knife, which isn't nearly as efficient for hunting. But at least it's something. And she knows how to use it, that's for sure.

The first thing she sees as she opens the cabinet, is, of course, a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly.

"Now all we need is some pig's feet," she murmurs under her breath into the open air.

The broken little laugh that escapes her mouth then turns into a genuine smile, small as it is. She stuffs the jars into her bag. She'll save it. For later. Maybe she'll even take a few spoons, too.

Once they are tucked safely away in her bag, she is able to steel herself again. Turning around, she walks on silent feet back through the living room and up the staircase. Once she approves that all the rooms are clear, Beth finds herself wandering into the last room- the master bathroom. The bathroom is decently clean, despite the shards of glass spread across the tiled floor.

Her eyes flutter about taking in the shards of glass reflecting the sun streaming from the window and onto the walls, creating transparent patterns. It's such a strangely beautiful sight that she finds herself drawn in, stepping further into the room- further into the streams of fragmented light. Her eyes continue to scan the room in something akin to a daze, until she finally turns to face the cracked mirror.

She gasps, breath whooshing out of her lungs, loud and hard into the still air, hand gripping the handle of her knife until her fingers turn white.

She doesn't completely understand what she's seeing. She knows what it is, but she never really expected to see _this_.

The thing is, she hasn't seen her reflection since escaping Grady. There's no need for it anyway. She doesn't need a mirror to clean the cuts on her face, she can feel them well enough.

Her fingers reach up on their own accord to lightly cross the skin of her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, wiping a trail of sweat and grime away as she goes. The track of skin removed of dirt is now just as pale as ever. Her eyes now seem so hardened, steel blue analyzing her own face in the mirror, boring in to her own self. She hardly recognizes those eyes, not used to having the softness that was once there completely gone.

The pads of her fingers continue on their way, now tracing around her eyes, around the small creases that now seem engraved deep into her skin. Down, now onto her mouth, firm lips held together in a thin line. There is a split on her bottom lip and she tries to remember how it came about, but fails.

Her hands drop back down to her sides, taking in her lean body, muscles toned from running, from fighting. Her collarbone seems to be more prevalent than she's ever noticed before. She no longer wears her yellow polo, although it's still tucked away neatly in the very bottom of her bag. She doesn't have the heart to wear it anymore, but she also can't rid herself of it, no matter how many times she's wanted to. So there she has it folded away into the bottom of her sack, away from her eyes. The sight of the blood stained yellow polo brings back too many memories, both good and bad. Most days she doesn't feel she has the energy to let herself get lost in the feelings the yellow fabric brings about. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so she hoped.

Her eyes continue their journey across her face, her body. Head tilted, feet planted firmly on the floor. She doesn't know how long she's been standing in front of this mirror, but she can't force herself to move.

The cracks in the mirror morph half of her face. Her heart is pounding fast and hard against her breastbone with feelings she can't even begin to identify. She looks broken. Maybe she is.

This is her. This is the way she is now. She's changed. She knew she had to, but she still didn't expect this. And she doesn't feel particularly okay with it either. But this is how it is. This is how it has to be. But it just sounds like she's desperately trying to convince herself.

Her eyes wander back to the shards of glass scattered across the floor. She doesn't want to look at herself anymore. She can't. Feels that if she does, she might shatter into a million pieces like the glass beneath her boots.

She doesn't necessarily care what she looks like on the outside. She really doesn't. In this world there isn't time to dwell on such superficial things. But she knows that her reflection in the mirror is also reflecting the way she feels inside, the ways in which she's changed. There are parts of herself that have shattered and she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to mend those pieces back together again. The things she's lived through. When she looks into her own eyes, she sees the people she's had to kill. The things she's done. The things she _will_ do.

She wonders what her Daddy would think of her now. She's knows that she's only killed others out of necessity. There really was no other option in her mind. But in this moment, it doesn't make her feel much better. She wonders if her family would even recognize her now.

With a dry, heaving sob, she finally drags her eyes back up to her face. Her breath catches again, but for a totally different reason. There, looking back at her, is something so vaguely familiar, just the slightest flicker. The dirt and grime, scars, and bruises still litter her body and face, but she is there. The sun outside has begun to lower, making the light hit her face in a new way, catching the slight glimmer in her eyes. She's still there. She is.

There is a hint of softness, of light shimmering in her eyes that had been absent before. The lines beneath her eyes are still there, but they smooth out. Her mouth relaxes, parts open. There's still a hardness that never showed on her face before, but Beth is able to recognize herself. The braid that she's worn in her hair for so long is still there, although frizzy and loose, barely identifiable. It makes her remember the days living in the prison where her Daddy would tug on her braid, calling her _Doodlebug_ while passing through the cellblock. She's able to think of him with a smile now. She's changed, yes, but she's not too far gone.

The shards of glass reflects a golden light across her face, highlighting her scars, causing her eyes to flit over them. The once jagged wounds on her cheek and forehead are now smoothed out a bit, pink lines marking her body, joining the scar on her wrist. Dawn tried to use Beth's scars against her, told her they made her weak. But no, she gets it now. Feels as though she always has, but now she feels it deep in her core, settled in her bones, a wave of calmness taking hold of her body. All it did was make Beth realize the steel that has always been behind her blue eyes, waiting for the chance to emerge.

She _is_ strong.

She knows this now, and no one will ever convince her otherwise.


End file.
